It's not as much butterflies in my stomach anymore.
They've migrated to my throat,
Choking me off.
I want to say something beautiful
Paint a picture of eloquence that would take your breath away,
But apparently I'm the one lacking air.
What used to fill my whole being with a flush anticipation
Has caused a fickle for my respiration.
Under the cluster of wings in my throat
I feel each movement-
The hum of so called life
(But will I still be living when I lack air?).
These butterflies have lone gone from wonderful and turned
Disastrous.
It makes me wonder how something so beautifully fragile could turn so
Deadly.

Well, he's got this thing in his eyes
that makes me question love
It's a curse that has haunt me ever since
The brown that lit up in the light,
it learned me that everything has depth
Unlike my father, even if the brightest light that has ever been shone
just bathed his eyes in light
Not even then
there would be shown the slightest bit of depth
Maybe that's why I liked him so much
because he was so unlikely to become like my dad
I mean
My dad was a good man
Was
It's all the pain that changed him
I just really hope he doesn't get hurt and does not change the slightest bit
Don't let anyone take away his depth

I'm sorry, what was your question again?